


Absolutely Bloody Not

by TheSleeplessWriter



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bandleader Crumbledick, Childish Sherlock, Drabble, Fanfiction, Humor, M/M, Sherlock's a Smart Arse, Short Story, Watching sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 07:05:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9709799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSleeplessWriter/pseuds/TheSleeplessWriter
Summary: Sherlock watches an episode of Sherlock.





	

"Absolutely bloody not!" 

"Calm down, they already filmed the pilot." John says in a soothing voice, his hand on Sherlock's tense shoulder. "They've given us the DVD. It won't be out for months. We can watch it if you want."

"I don't want to watch such garbage!" Sherlock says emphatically, crossing his arms and displaying a Level 4 sulky face. "I looked up the actor. Bandleader Crumpledick, or something. He's such a British stereotype! All nice and smiling, always apologizing." He imitates said actor's smile. 

"You haven't even seen it yet. Just give it a chance." John plucks the box from the table, holding it out to Sherlock. The solemn faces of the actors grace the cover. 

"No. I wish you had never sold the rights to the cases. You've sold my life story." Sherlock pouts, even though he had signed the papers as well. His arms are crossed childishly. John simply rolls his eyes at the detective's dramatics. 

"Well, I'm going to watch it. Feel free to join me." John announces, holding up the disc (Which also had the faces of those bloody actors who agreed to portray his intricate life) and walking to the telly. 

Sherlock narrows his grayish eyes and bites his tongue, forcing himself to withhold the famed word "Whatever".

He groans in annoyance and almost stomps to the kitchen, his dressing robe billowing out behind him like a cape. He starts pulling out his favourite dangerous chemicals. That always cheers him up. The fragile vials are violently slammed onto the table, the liquid inside sloshing about and spilling. There is a noticeable sizzle and an acrid smell rising up from the wood. A dark purple, fist sized burn is added to the collection of marks on the table. Sherlock takes a half-empty cup of tea and positions it above the spot. He should count his blessings on the fact that that the vials didn't shatter. John's rather tired of sweeping up shards of glass. 

Sherlock fiddles around with the acids, pretending to conduct an experiment. The sounds of gunshots and explosions certainly piques his interest. Maybe it isn't that bad. At the sound of a theme song (A theme song, really?) he succumbs to his curiosity and pokes his head through the entrance to the living room. 

John locks eyes with Sherlock, sulky gray meeting humoured brown, and it's all over. He's just admitted his curiosity in the pilot. 

"You win." Sherlock says dramatically as he drops down onto the sofa, making a great show of sighing and generally being stroppy. 

John gives an "I told you so" smile and rewinds the show to the beginning before settling down and getting comfortable. From what he's seen so far, the show's actually decent, and might appease Your Royal Highness. 

 

-One A Study in Pink later-

"My hair is certainly not that messy. And my eyes are gray, not Easter egg teal." Sherlock scoffs, frowning at the end credits. John turns to him and smirks, lifting an eyebrow. Someone's a bit vain, eh?

"And there were seven murders before the cabbie got caught, not four." Sherlock adds in a smart arse tone. 

"They probably had to cut it back, for time. Can't have too many characters, you know." John explains, hoping this is the end of the detective's complaining. 

"I only used three patches at a time once. And it was with the Christie case, not the cabbie murders. And-" He continues, like a bottle of champagne opened. John continued shushing him during the show, and he was forced to keep his thoughts to himself. 

A hundred tiny, unimportant nit picks are pointed out, from "Sally's hair is the wrong color" to "Mr Hudson wasn't given the death sentence, he was murdered by a boss in the drug business". It feels as if the tirade will never end. It seems he suddenly remembers every single fact about that case. 

One fact, however, is not entirely wrong. 

"And besides, I am nowhere near that childish." Sherlock insists proudly, tacking this all-important fact onto the end of his long rant. 

John snorts.

**Author's Note:**

> This was one of those dumb ideas I had to write really quickly before I forgot. Glad I did, because it was fun to write. Feel free to leave kudos, comments, and constructive criticism :)


End file.
